


Watching Statements

by Hawke



Series: An investigation into the mind of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Eyes, Jon Is Weird While Giving Statements, Martin Is In Love With Jon But Also Weirded Out By Jon Being Weird While Giving Statements, Martin's POV, No beta we die like archival assistants, ambiguous mid-season 2 timeline, general archival nonsense, marge simpson 'i just think theyre neat'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24437392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawke/pseuds/Hawke
Summary: Martin realised he had never actuallyseenJon record a statement before.
Series: An investigation into the mind of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765849
Comments: 17
Kudos: 159





	1. :eye:

Martin realised he had never actually _seen_ Jon record a statement before. 

He had certainly heard statements being recorded. The walls down in the archive weren’t that thick, and Jon's smooth, deep voice carried easily from the head archivists' office into the open area of desks that he, Tim, and Sasha worked at. 

And it’s not like Martin didn’t know Jon came in early and stayed late. If nothing else, the presence of the cot downstairs was evidence enough, and he'd almost flat out admitted to it during the Prentiss incident. So, he wasn’t surprised to find Jon already at work when he arrived early one day. 

Nightmares denied Martin a restful sleep the night before, and as he checked the clock for the hundredth time and saw it read 05:03, he decided he might as well head into the Institute. 

It was quiet this early. No one was milling around upstairs; Rosie wasn’t in yet. Tim wasn’t rocking back in his chair while scrolling through twitter. 

But as Martin sat down, he realised there was a sound. A smooth and deep voice was speaking in an even cadence, and after a moment Martin placed it. Jon's voice was always ... Odd when he recorded statements, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. What was different, was that Jon had evidently forgotten to close his office door before he started recording. 

Martin walked as quietly as he could up to the door. Jon got annoyed whenever anyone interrupted his recording, and he also cautioned the archival assistants to keep the noise down so it didn’t interfere with the recordings. Martin decided he would sneak up, close the door, and everything would be fine. 

Except. 

Well, he'd never actually _seen_ Jon record a statement before. He'd seen the sudden jump Jon made when he accidently interrupted him to bring in tea. But he'd never seen the actual recording of a statement. 

He reached the doorway and looked in and -

Well. Of all the odd things in this archive, Martin wasn’t sure why he was surprised by this. 

Everything looked normal to begin with. Jon was sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, statement in hand and tape recorder running. 

After a moment of watching through, Martin realised what was wrong. Jon's eyes weren't moving. They weren't even focused on the page. Green eyes (and had Jon's eyes always been that luminous?) stared blankly into a point somewhere distant from the page, as if looking at something only he could see. 

And, there was something else in his eyes. The word 'vacant' came to mind. It was a similar look to the one Martin's mum would get sometimes, when the drugs wore off and she was stuck in whatever dementia-riddled vision that plagued her. 

Jon was looking towards the page, and he was speaking evenly and clearly, but Martin had a sudden sensation that he was alone in the room. 

Martin must have made some sort of noise, because Jon cut himself off and whirled to face the door. 

It took a moment for his eyes to re-focus (and it must have been a trick of the light earlier, Jon's eyes were a perfectly normal shade of green), and they landed on Martin. 

"Martin," he sighed, "I've told you not to interrupt while I’m recording."

His tone was at least better than it had been when he'd started off as Head Archivist, but it was still accusatory and annoyed. 

"Well, uhm, the door was open and I just... Wanted to make sure you were okay?" Martin cursed himself for the stammer in his voice that always appeared when he was talking to Jon. 

To his surprise, Jon's annoyance fell from his face, "Ah. Thank you then Martin. I'm fine. If you could close the door...?"

Martin nodded quickly, "Of course."

He shut the door, hearing 'Statement Resumes' from the other side, and moved around to his desk. 

All in all, not a bad interaction. Although Martin could have sword, when Jon turned to look at him in that first moment... There had been something on his forehead. Something ... Odd. 

Something looking at him. 

Obviously, that wasn’t true. Martin let out a small huff of laughter. It was likely just the light reflecting from one of Jon's many worm-scars. They were still new enough to be both disconcerting and unexpected. 

Jon did not have a third eye on his face.


	2. :eyes:^3

The second time Martin saw Jon recording a statement was several weeks later. 

"Statement ends." 

The ending of the statement - just two simple works - showed itself on Jon in so many more ways. 

His body slumped, as if the tension that he'd been holding himself with was something else, some kind of other presence that had held him in a rigid upright posture for the duration of the statement and was now releasing him. 

His hand fell to the table with a dull thud, and the statement slid from his lax fingers to flutter onto the desk. His eyes were still blankly staring into a middle distance that only he could see, and Martin watched as they slowly dragged themselves into something resembling focus. 

Jon looked tired. He always looked tired, but it seemed like it was all catching up with him now. His darker skin had taken on an underlying sickly pallor, and he let out a pained moan. 

Martin realised that his voyeuring had gone on long enough, he stepped into the room, "Jon? Are you alright?"

Jon didn’t answer his question, his only response was a slow tracking of his eyes towards Martin. When they reached him, that eerie vibrant green still lurking in their depths, Martin was struck by the _blankness_ behind them. It almost looked like he was empty, not quite there. 

Martin shook himself, or just very tired. 

He stepped further into the room, "Jon, I think you need a rest now."

Jon's eyes continued tracking an approximation of where Martin was as he got closer, until Martin suddenly froze. 

Three bright green eyes stared toward Martin. 

It had been hard to see in the light of the archives, easy to chalk it up to reflections on worm scars when he was further away and being shooed out of the room, but from barely two feet away, there was no denying it. 

In the middle of Jon's brow, half-obscured by the flop of his hair, was an eye. 

It was almost identical to the _normal_ ones he had, about the same size, about the same colour (well, the same glowing colour). Except where his two eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing on Martin, the third one seemed to stare directly into Martin's eyes, into his _soul_. 

Martin took a step forward, whether to get a better look or to poke at it or to... Something, he wasn't sure. 

He didn't get a chance to though. Whatever had made the eye appear stopped, and it slid its way closed, blending seamlessly with the skin beneath it. 

Jon's normal eyes focussed for a moment, "M'rtin?" he slurred out, even as he began to slump further into his chair.

Martin rushed the final step forward, concerned that if Jon listed any further, he'd fall. He gently laid a hand on Jon's shoulder.

"Jon, I think you need to go lie down."

Jon's eyes slowly moved from the hand on his shoulder up to Martins' face, a dim look of incomprehension in them. Instead of meeting gazes, his eyes continued upward to roll back into his head, and he fell limply into Martin's grip. 

Well. That was weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have thoughts for more to this fic (and some in a related series), so I will likely write more. But also I'm using fic writing to procrastinate uni assignments, so we'll see how we go... :P


	3. :eye: see you pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M͉͕̩̝͒̂ͭͦͮ̍̚ã͕̠ͩͣ̂ȓ̙̰͈̱̳̖̋̔t͖̊͑i̺͇̙̫̼̩ͬn͎̺̭͖ͫ̈ͦ͂ ̭̞̦̯͍̻̲̏̚hͥ̋͌a͌s̠̙̿͒͗ ̖͉̗̘͎̬a̍ ̤̙͚̏̑̑̐̿c̮͉̥̩͖͕͒̽̔͐̔ḧ̯͙̮́a̜̺̙ͬ̌͆ͨ͂̔t͖͔.
> 
> (hover over the Eldrich Writing for a 'clean' version)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (accidently writes another 2k)

After the previous _incident_ with Jon, Martin kept a closer eye on him.  
  
Jon had been fine, he'd come to a few minutes later, head resting in Martin's lap as he tried to explain to Elias that _something was wrong, he had fainted and wasn't waking up_ , but Elias had just laughed, said everything was going 'just as planned', and hung up.  
  
Jon had been very awkward about it, stammering out an apology and trying to sit up, despite the alarming rush of blood from his face as he did.  
  
Martin pushed him back down and told him to relax until he felt better, and after five minutes he had successfully sat up by himself.  
  
Martin had gone to grab tea for Jon, and Jon had apologised and said that it wouldn’t happen again, and then everything had gone back to how it was supposed to be.  
  
But Martin decided to keep a closer eye on Jon. Whatever was happening, Martin wanted to make sure Jon would be okay.  
  
  
  
This time, it was only a week later that Martin had his next ... Encounter.  
  
Martin had gotten caught up in the follow up of a statement, trawling through twenty years of Dunstable BDM records to figure out if Mr Crocker had been a twin, when he looked up and realised Tim and Sasha had left, and the archives were quiet.  
  
He sighed and began to pack up, might as well get home and ... Do what? Write depressing poetry and watch countdown? Ugh.  
  
Martin was about to begin the trek through the institute to leave when he realised he could still hear Jon recording in his office.  
  
He hesitated, then checked the time - almost 9pm. Jon should not still be working this late.  
  
Martin carefully dropped his bag on his desk and snuck over to Jon's office door. Slowly opening it (no need to get yelled at) he peeked inside.  
  
Jon was sitting in much the same position as the first time he'd seen him recording. Back straight, recorder on, hand clutching the statement and, yes, eyes unfocussed and blank.  
  
Now that he was looking for it, Martin could see the green glow of all three of his eyes, seeming to pulse with the rhythm of Jon's speaking. Martin didn’t notice what the statement was about, too focussed on Jon.  
  
That sense of being alone in the room returned. It was like Jon wasn’t really there. His body remained, but his mind was somewhere else, witnessing whatever horror had caused the statement giver to come to the Magnus Institute.  
  
Martin took the opportunity to really look at Jon, to drink in his expressive lips as he spoke, his dark lashes and pockmarked skin.  
  
Jon finally paused, and Martin was snapped out of his revere by those final words, "Statement ends".  
  
Martin expected the slumping of his body, the relaxation and exhaustion that had occurred last time, but it didn’t happen.  
  
Instead, Jon continued to stare towards the statement and didn’t move. Except... His third eye.  
  
It swung towards Martin and seemed to bore into him.  
  
Now, everyone always felt watched in the Institute, especially in the archives. Whether it was the Eye, or Elias, or ... Something else, it was a constant presence that everyone eventually learned to ignore. But as that eye looked at him for longer and longer, Martin felt like he was being peeled open, layer by layer. His whole mind, body and soul being examined in minute detail.  
  
The intrusion relaxed as suddenly as it had begun, and Martin let out a sharp breath.  
  
"What the hell Jon!"  
  
Jon tilted his head to the side, and Martin had a sudden realisation that _he still felt alone in that room_.  
  



	4. :eye: see you pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M͉͕̩̝͒̂ͭͦͮ̍̚ã͕̠ͩͣ̂ȓ̙̰͈̱̳̖̋̔t͖̊͑i̺͇̙̫̼̩ͬn͎̺̭͖ͫ̈ͦ͂ ̭̞̦̯͍̻̲̏̚hͥ̋͌a͌s̠̙̿͒͗ ̖͉̗̘͎̬a̍ ̤̙͚̏̑̑̐̿c̮͉̥̩͖͕͒̽̔͐̔ḧ̯͙̮́a̜̺̙ͬ̌͆ͨ͂̔t͖͔.
> 
> (hover over the Eldrich Writing for a 'clean' version)

J̍̿ͬȏ̮̬͔̲̺̗̐ͭn̯͍ ̮̟̤̟̙̜͉̒͂ͧ̚i̥ͅs͍̮̝͚͈̱̳͐͂ͮ̄̒͛ ̙͇̠̮̠̊ͪ̈ͣ̚n͔͖̱̠̳̙̈́ͯ͌̇͛ỏ̻̟̬̯͔̫̽ͣ̅t̹̼ ̳͖͚̩̙̦̦͛͋h̬̼̖̪̺͂ͤ̄̓͐̏͗eͬͥ̾r̓ͨͩ̄̎͂e̙̻͇̙͗̽͑͐̀ ̥̠̱̣̤̱́̓͌̊̑͊̂ṟ̺̳͇ͅĭg͈ͦ̃̌́̍͑̍h̹̰͙̫̝̻ͫt̬͈̞̭̐͆ ͚̖̠̗̹͕̥̇ͦn͂ͥ͒͊o͚̖̫̦̟̖͔ͮ̊͐w̟͊̓̂ͥͪ,͓̯̉̿ͦ̉̌̚ ̲M̩̺͈͈̹̖̅a̬͓̣̬ͮ̉ͤ̊r̤͇̻̻̤̫̍̀ͅt̜̱̬͈͕ͬ͂̈̅͌i̘̹͕̺ͣ͂n͕̠̰̺̘͔̖̈́̒ͧ ͇͙̯ͯ̐̍Ḇ͖̺͙̥͙͇ͭ͊ͮͧͭl̙̘̳̝̘͓̑a̝̼ͧͅc͖̩̫̻̬̀͗͆ͬͅk͍̫ẅ́̒̂̍ͩͦ͗o̻ͭͥ̍ͫͬͤo͈̯̣ͩ̍̂d̙͌̇̎ͦ̆̉.  
  
Martin watched as the words literally poured out of Jon's mouth, crawling towards him and burrowing into Martin's ears so he could comprehend them.  
  
The weight of someone, _something_ watching him was intense, but not as all-encompassing as it had been.  
  
"Who... Who are you?" Martin eventually stammered out.  
  
Jon, or whatever was currently operating Jon's body like a remote-control car, looked thoughtful for a moment.  
  
I̞̩̟͇ ͔̝̺̓̒ͅā̖̝m̞̱͚̥̦͓̈́̋͐̑͋̓͑ ̇͆̅̒t̠̤̗̳ͮhḛ̰̝̘̯̦̭̔̔͌͋̚ ͍̬̘̮͓̉̋̍̆̉̊̾ǒ̠͇n̝̺̤͕̲̱ẹ͖͔̜̞̻̣ ̰̠̣̝̰̟̆̊̚t͗̉ͩh͕̩̓͐͋̚a̖͈͔̜̠̦̱̐̋̐̓t ̦̫̲̋͌́̆̽̚W̗̪̒͋̾̈́͆ͅȁ̖̙͎̜t̤̲̱̬͖͎̰c̘̬̑̐h̗̘̭̊ẽ̲̣̞̮̓ͅs̳̯̣̜.͇̄ͮͭ͗ͬ̉ T̗̞ͯ̏̏́̃͑̎h͈̪̯̠̻̎e͖̫͉͔͖̟͂ ̩͇͊ͥ͛ͬͥ̓̇o̺̫̩ͤ̿n͈̤̯̻͓̅̌͊̏e̓͒ͩ̐ ̦̰̦̣͌̐t͊ha̲͇̭̝̺͖̅̃͂ͩ͐t̥̬̾̂ͧ̽̇́ͅ ̭͊ͭ͌̆̏S̜͚̙̙e̻̟̝̟̲͒̈̈̍̒̎̓e̲ͤs̄͛̽͑̓̾ ̮̣̻̩͓͇̒̿ͪͅa̼̳͓̥̬͈ͪ̿ͭͅn̹̼̦͖̗͇͆͌͋̈́d̬͆̓̋ ͈̫͚͓͇̠͛̏ͥC̻͉ͯ̐̎o̖͚͈̿n̺s͕̜̺ͮ̄̌ͯͪ͊͒ͅǘ͈͍͈̲͓͉̍̒ͨm̪̤̟͗̀͗ͤ̓é̯̖̱͕̞̞ͦͮs̪̦̹̩̜͐̂̇̈̉ͧ̓ ͦ͊͊̍̅ͯ̈́á͖̱̥̟̌̊̊̽n̲̼̹̗̲͍͐̅͒̇̽͒ͅd̫̭̗̠̚ ͇̫ͯ͐͂͐R̤̽̀͊̚e͆̾̎͂̍̒c̗͕̳̩͈̲̏͒̉ͭͣͬ̈́ͅo̲̭̖͚̠̲̠̓ͥ́̀r̲͙͕ͨ̑ͯ̌̿ͪ̑d͎̜̰̮̭̙͐ͥ͑͑̓s̘̮̄͑ͫ̊́ͨ.̰̬͉̰̫̱͕ͫ̅̎ ̼̥̯Ṫ̬̠̋̉̊ͫͧḧ̖͍̜̖̱́̔͂̀̈ͭ͆e̹ͫ̏ ̖̘̳̩̲̗ͫ̏̉o͇̭͍̮̭̦͙ͮ̽͛̽̾͌ͭn͍̻̗̬͕ͮ̓ͥͮ̄̍e̥͉͑̇͑ ̬ͯͥͭͯt͇͍̠̥͙ͦͯh͓̻̲̬̞͚͕a̖͖̭̜ͫ͋̅̑t̯̼̺͍̜ ̫̟̠̹̬̖̓̆͋B̘̘̞͕̰ͣͦ̓e̩̒̉͋͋h̤ȯ͍̫͍̱̙̠̀̍l͈͓̺̹̪͂͑ͥͫͦ̒̑ḏ̹̺̰͋͛͂̈́͒ͯs̘͎̺͊͐̎ͩͮ.̝̞̝  
  
Martin shuddered as the words entered his mind again, feeling not unlike they were being chiselled into his psyche.  
  
"What do you want with Jon?"  
  
H̗̝̪͖̪ė͖̟ͤ͋͗ͬ̀ͅ ̱̯̗̲̥̈ͮ̀ͨs̤̘͂͋ͪ͐ͫ̔̂e͓͕̯ͤ͒̂̉͒̊ë̩͚̞̘̏ͩ̈̈́k̙̣̣s̖̹͇͚̼͒ͅ ̘͍͖͌ͮ̅t͎̅ͣͥͤo͇̓͑ͮ ̼̮̞̙̆̇͛ͮ̇ͣͩK͌n̪̪̲̫̎ͭͣ̌ͅo̟̻̱̞̭̬̿͗ͥ̍ͫẁ͙̘̍̈́,̻̳ͩ̀ͤ̆̀ͧͩ ͕̩͓ͣa͕ͨͯs̻̃ͧ̈́͐ͥ ͈̰̪͓̠̀̔̈̇ͅI͍̜̺ͤͭ͗̓͋́ ̠̝͇̤̳̘̑̿d͔͓ͫ̑̌ͮ̆̚ȯ̗̑.ͯ̅ͬ ̰͙͉̥̠̜̯̒ͦẈ͉̓̑ͩͦė ̩̪̽ͣ̊͛w̏ͯͨ͂͌̆o̰͈̬̺͓̰r͖͖̻͑͛ͦͩ̄̅̅k̓̎ͧͩ̐͋ ̫̺̙̰̆̇t̮̓̒ȏ̬̘̻͇̲g̝̞͖͕̼̈́ͬ͂̈́ͨ̉̎ͅe̜̳͚̞̔̋̓̅t̪̪͓͒̊h̼͙̺̘ͯ̒e͔̜̳͍̬̙͐͒ͩ͂r͎̗̠̘ͩ̓̂̌ͭ ͚̦̌̈́ͦs̱̣̰o̫̭̯͚ͥͥ̚ ̰̜̼w͗͊͋͋ḛ͇ͬ̏ͫ ̭̗̦̮c͉͖͉ͨa͍̳͓̰͔̻̥ͧ͛̓͐ͧ̿ͪn͉̖̆̍̾ ̰̭̓ͭ̃ͦ̿̈K̃͊̄̓̆n̦͎̰͉̙ͥͥ͐̎o̺wͨ̋̉̓͗ ̝͓͔̳͉̰A̼͉̝ͧͥl̬̻̞̑̑l̳.̱̲̭̞͉̘̔͂ͮ̉̏ͯ͒   
  
Martin felt the beginnings of a headache forming as the words continued. He wondered if this is what Jon felt like all the time? If it was, Martin needed to bring him more tea. And maybe some panadeine forte.  
  
Martin spoke before he could think of the consequences, think about the danger of pissing off the creature that he was speaking with. The creature that was wearing Jon like a meat-suit.  
  
"You're hurting him, you know! You won't be knowing anything if you send him to an early grave! He's been working himself to death doing these statements for you and your stupid knowing!"  
  
Jon - well, not Jon. Jon's eyes were still vacant and empty. The Beholding twisted Jon's mouth into a smile.  
  
Ỷ̋̒̓̏̚o̥̤̜̙͈̐̋̍͒̐ṷ̰̮͂ ̣̬̘̯͇͇c̬͙͕͙̑̈́̅ā̩̭͇͕̙͍̺͂̑ͧ̿͒ͤȑ͇̜̹̟̣̲̹ͨ̐è͚͈̭͍̬̓ͬͥ̿̚ ̻̜̫́̃ͦa͈̮̱͓͇̓bo̪͋u̠͕̔̌̏̚ț̭̥͎͚̯̩͗̈́ ͈̩̯ͪ͊̇̽͗̇h̝̦̺̪̥̓ͥ͑̀i̼̣̮̣m͑͛ͧ̆̊̚ ͬͭͧ́̓͑v̖̫ͬͫ̆̏̏͊e̹̯̬̿̂̈͆̑̀͑r̫̩͖̭̥͌̽̋͌ͣ̃y̼̺͖̼͔͌ͦ̐̿̈̐̚ ͎̅m̰̺̾̏ͬ̌̐ͦ̊u̞̜̖͕ͬ͗ͬ̒̋ͬ̓c̳̣͓͓͐̐ͮ̂̓̽ͩh̀ͤ̋̿̽ͦ.̩͚̞̺̫̘ ͉͎̲͈̘̆̇I͖̖̱͈̤͒̀̐ͦ ̦͔͉̘̩ͫ̾̌̇ͭ̈́f̼͎̓̋͐͌̄́̀e͗e͍͓͉͔̋̓ͅd̜̭̯̮̬̬͋͒̈̿̈̚ ̟̱̺͑̈́ͯ̑o̱̘͐ͣ̇ͩͯ͐̓f̱̗͔̙̖̠̓̿f̣̒͂̒͊͐̅ ̰̥̱̙͑ͣ̈̍͒t̯̲̗̜͖͇̯h̻̉̇͊̄̊̍ͮe̠̞̳̘͎̗̳ͫͩ̿̓ ̥̻̫̝̦̭̑̋̏̋ͮ̚f̘̭̗̄͆̒ͬ̀͑eͧ̒̍̓̐a̭̥͔̠̤̬̳ͭͪ̾͐ͤ̅r͙͖͇̬̪͚ ͨ̊͐́ͦ́ṯ̗̯̬͖̓̓̿̽h͈̺̦̜͑̐̑̓ͧ̂a̘͋̈́̌͛̚t̹̒̉̅ ̰̳̅̄̔̑̎ͯ̂m̪̰̰̯͓ͣͥ̓ͪͮ̃o͙̾ͦ͗̓͐r̟̿̒̌͆́̋͗t̊a̝̓ͤͫͬl̼̻̠͔̅ͪ̓ͮ̐ͮs͖̺̺̖̏ͅ ̣̽h̬̘̳̓͊͋a͈͒̌͋v̟̠̈́̅̓̋e̜̫̭̖̺̲̥͑̊̈̄̏ ̼̂́ͣͯ͊̄̏f̬̑͛̈́̽ͭͅȏ̆͂̏rͣ̐͒̇̐̚ ͈̠͒͐ͅm̤̩̝͒ͥͧ͗è͊̍,͙̪̘̙̏͂ͦ̋͛ͣ̚ ͈̩̌͌̑ͥ̒̋b̦̺͎̗u̠̦̠͐ͭ̊ͮ͑̃ͯt͍͍̠̥̦͛̾̃̀̉ͅ ̜͉̥̠͇̽̐̿̄I̟̤͔͕̬͉̣̓̉̇̑̚ ̮̗͍̪͕̹͈́̓̑ͫ̃͂̌wͯ͐i̭͚l̗͖͉l̉ͨͩ͆̏ ̬͈̱̪ͯͤ͋ͪ̒̚a̤̟̯̜͕̲͍͋̑̔̉͒̽d͚̹̫ͬͥ̅͒̔̽ͮm͚̤͕̲̩͗͐̽ͅí͇̫͇̄̄̌ͫt̩̩̦͓̋̏̑̑ͮͤ,̯͈ͭ͐̅ͤ ̯͖̏̽̏̂͂͛ͫḬ͇̜̰̬̲ͯ ̬̱̿ͪ͊̀͂̆a͋̔̊ͧͬͮ́m͗̎̃̽̆̊ ̜̖͕͙͖̼͙ͦͣͩͯ͒͊c͚͕͓ͤ͐̓̅̚u͈͛̈́͂͊͐ͦͣȓ̥͍̬̹̾̈ͩ͐̀ḭ̣̼̼͐ͤ̿o͇̦̎ͥ̈́ͪu̙͙͓̩̹̗̓ͫͩ́ͯͦs̏̄̆̚ ̼̱̼͔͔̗̼ͣ͑̊̽̈́͒̏á̙͎̰̬̻̄̑b̼̜͚̦̐̆̓̽̂ͬ̄ȯ͎ͫú͕̠̜̼͙͈̩̇t͔̬̹̯͌ ̬͍̦̪̌t͈͎ͨ̍̏̈́͐h̪͇͚̍̅͂ͤ̐̍͛e͉͕̻̭̠̝̜ͩͯ ͨ̉f̭̯̤̤̼̊ͬ̌e̦͕͉̖͓͍̦ͫͣ̑ͤ̽ͣẽ̼̜̼̼̺͙ḻ̱̦͙͕ȉ̼̮͓̣̆̃ͩͮͪ̚n̖̏̾͆̂̽̐̿ḡ͙͇͕͔ͮͦ̂̄ͯ̋s̖͎̻ͭ̃̍ ͍͖̱͖͍̺ŷ̖̭͕̠̽̂͆̊o̟̙̜̅ͣͤ̾ͧu̥̿ ̰̞̞̯̪̊̌h̯͎͓̰̰̝̖̒͐́̉ͮ̏a̘̤̫͔̦̭ͪ̅v͚̹̯̤̈́ͧ̏ͦě͈̤͋ͭ̾ ̜̺̖̩̽̏ͅf̺͙̠̮̯̭̲͆̽̀o͈̠r̯͇̤͎̤̔́ͧ̾͐̏ͧ ͍̙̭̻ͥ̓̀̈́ṁ͍̘̹̲̱͆́ͩ̃͗ͅỹ̯͖̹̭͓̼͓ͥͬ̚̚ ͈̱͎ͭ́̋́̒ͪ̋A͎̥̠͖͚̞̋̔͊r̰̗̤͇̓c̙̹͔̙̰̀ͬ̈͂̀h̼̜͉̹̗͔̀i͕̗̥̠̬̙̜͋̆̎̈̋v͈̠̤̭̬͓͎ͩ̇ḙ͔̪̺̪̝͕̂ͯ͌̓̀͒̐,̦̦̰͕̗̤͍̾̿ͣ̆ͫ ̰̯͕̮̭̆̇̋̐ͧM͖̫̏ͣ̌a̘̬̾̎̆ͯͅr̯̣ẗ̬̬̟̞͉͈́͌̂ͅi̤̻̳̎n̎ ̘̜̼̃B̯̺͚l͎̤̘͓̗̚a̰͖͉̰ͭ̀̐c̘k̦͖̪͆̏͌̽͒͛ͬw̹̞̻̮͊͗ͨ̔o͖͕̥̒ͮ̍͐ò̙̺̫d̩̝͓̜̃.̜̤̈́̓͊ ͈̂̑̑I̟͓̺̲͛͒̎̂̐ͭ͒ ͙̱̳̣͓͇̙͋̎ͮ͌s̱̺̙̫͒̋̋̉ͪe̘ḛ͓͍͍̜̥̞ͣ̆ͭ́ͬ̈́k̞̠̟̣̹̻͎̾̿͐ ̤̺̲͎̄t̤͖̥̹̹̤ͦ̿̑͗o̮͕͛̆͛̈́ͬͦ ̍̔ͩ̊K̭͙̼͇̺̪̙̍ͭn̥̈́̂̔ͭ̍ͯoͩ̈̉̾̌̾w̙̩̝̾͆ ̬̜̗T̎ͨͩͪ̾ͨͬh̋̃ͥ̏̇e͉̟̼ͫ̓m͎͉̺͎͖̘̣̍̌͋̉̑̅.͈̬͚̟͚̱͆̑ͥ̉͗ͧͅ  
  
Martin shuddered at the thought. This was beyond his ability to mentally deal with. He was feeling light-headed from the constant barrage of Knowing what the Eye was saying, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.  
  
Jon's head nodded.  
  
W͍͍͂͒̽̑͛͒̚e͈ͫ̆̓̏̓̂̉ ̦͈̤̩̌͌͐ͦͣ̚wͤ̓͊̽̊͑̌i̘͈̰͇͎̔̓͌ͧ̑̓̍l̗̺̩ͭl͋ͨ ̮̤͍ͥ̒͂s̱͌ͥ͒̐͋̚p̦̝̟̞̰̏ͥ̋̈́̿ͯͤe͕͓͚ͬ͗ͥạ̣̙̠̠͉̪̽̃ͤ͊ͩ̂̚k̟͛ͦͮ͌̾ͮ ̱̫̻͎̣͖a̟̣̞̤͍͙ͧg̦ͫ̐̇ͦ̑̌a̬͉ͣ̿̂̏̑ͯi̘̯̟̪̍̓ͫ̚ͅn͎͔̪,͇̻̔̍̈́ͣ̒͂̄ ̠͙͔̮̈́̓̾ͣ̑̚M̥̗͚͚͍̫ͅa̾r̜͎̪̱͕͎̿̚t̻͈̼̟̘́̅ͪ̏ͫi̻̝̾̓ͯ͋ͨn̺̝͚̙̼ ̦͖̩̜̱B͇̳͔̬̥ͥ͐ͯ̊ḽ̟̣̗͆̑̇ͦ̓̍̚a̫̞̫̖̬̝̥̾̿̚c͙̱̪k͈͙̫͍̝̳͓ͫ̓̅͂ͧ̋w̥̥͉͖͂̐ͅoͦo̰͔̝͕͙͎d̳ͩ͒̎̾͐.̲ͫ̆ͯ̚ ͒͂̃̋͗ͭ  
  
Jon's third eye closed, and Martin wasn't quick enough to catch him as he thudded face-first into his desk.  
  
Martin was already calling an ambulance - screw Elias - as he pulled Jon up to make sure he hadn't done himself any harm. After giving the address and promising (lying) that this wasn't any of that 'Super-weird Magnus Institute stuff', Martin got a good look at Jon's face.  
  
There was a redness on his nose from where he had collided with the desk, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed. His eyes were flickering back and forth under his lids, as if he was deep in a vivid dream. Martin just prayed that whatever it was, he would be fine.  
  
Jon didn't wake up before the ambulance got there, and Martin overheard the worried paramedics talk about the lack of pupillary response.  
  
As they were wheeling him into the ambo, one of the EMT's pulled Martin aside for a moment.  
  
"Has he taken anything?"  
  
Martin flinched. They thought he was a druggie? "What? No!"  
  
The paramedic sighed, "Look mate, we won’t tell the cops, we won't treat him badly. We just need to know what we're dealing with here."  
  
Martin shook his head, "No, he hasn't taken anything. He doesn't even drink."  
  
The paramedic seemed satisfied with that, and Martin tried not to glare at him as he sat up the front of the ambulance.  
  
He calmed down on the ride and tried to see if from their viewpoint. Crazy, bloodshot eyes. No pupil response, that could mean drugs, right? And, while he tried to conceal the glower at the thought, there was the stereotypes about black men that persisted, no matter how nicely Jon dressed. He saw it when some of the statement givers came in, the way they would defer to Martin and seemed confused that Jon was in charge. (of course, that was just his interpretation of the interactions, it was perfectly possible that it _wasn't_ racism, that he was just seeing things. But they also gave the same look to Tim, a look that was gone when they looked at Sasha and him.)  
  
In the end, the trip to the A&E was uneventful. Martin sat by Jon's bed, holding his hand while the ECG beeped steadily. Whether the hand holding was to reassure Jon or Martin was something that Martin was not going to consider.  
  
After twenty minutes, Jon started to come around, moaning as his eyelids flickered. Thankfully, there was none of that emptiness to Jon's gaze when he opened them, only confusion and pain.  
  
"Wh't h'ppened?" He slurred out, evidently not quite awake.  
  
Martin jerked his hand out of Jon's. "Ah, well. You sort of passed out. What do you remember?”  
  
Jon took a moment to parse Martin's words, a pained look on his face, "Um. I sat down to record statement 0101129 and then ... Uhhh." he trailed off for a moment, "I don't know. My head began to hurt. It still hurts."  
  
After that the doctor came in and asked Jon a bunch of questions: did he know what day it was, who was the prime minister, had something like this happened before, was he taking any non-prescription drugs.  
  
Jon's scowl matched what Martin's had probably looked like in the ambulance at that last question, but he dutifully answered all of the doctors' questions in the same quiet, calm, and pained tone.  
  
"Are you experiencing any pain Mr Sims?"  
  
Jon nodded weakly, "My head feels like its splitting open. Like there too much in there and it’s all going to come pouring out."  
  
Martin swallowed, trying not to think about the imagery of the Beholding peeling Jon's skull open.  
  
"My forehead also hurts. A lot."  
  
"Hmm. Can I palpitate your head? Let me know where it hurts."  
  
Jon nodded, and the doctor began to run his fingers along Jon's head. He began near his temples and worked his way inwards. Jon winced every time a finger pushed into his head, and Martin unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, waiting to see if the eye would reappear when the doctor touched where it was.  
  
The doctor laid his finger on the edge of where Martin knew the eye was, and Jon let out a pained cry.  
  
"Ahhhh! That - ow!"  
  
The doctor relented. "Mr Blackwood said you hit your head when you fell. We already checked you for any brain-bleed or fracture, so it's likely you've just got a nasty bruise that's in a bad spot. Take some nurofen for the swelling. Is there anything odd about your vision?"  
  
"The lights hurt..." Jon murmured.  
  
"Take some nurofen Mr Sims. Come back if anything gets worse."  
  
Thankfully, a nurse did bring some nurofen and a glass of water, and Martin helped Jon fill out the discharge papers before they left.  
  
Jon leaned on him as they left the hospital, and by the time they'd arrived at the tube station, Martin was practically carrying him. He ended up just buying a paper ticket for Jon, rather than trying to get the semi-conscious man to find his wallet.  
  
It wasn’t until they were halfway up the stairs of Martin's apartment that Jon seemed to realise something was wrong.  
  
"Where'r'we? M'rtin?"  
  
"We're at my house Jon." he said, trying to get out his keys while 100 pounds of archivist leaned on him.  
  
Jon blinked at him for a few seconds, "Okay."  
  
Martin ended up dumping Jon on his bed, no way he was going to make him take the couch. He rattled around in the medicine cabinet and found some Panadol for Jon. Judging by the drawn face he'd had the whole tube ride, the nurofen hadn’t done much.  
  
"Here Jon, have this."  
  
Jon obediently took the pills before slumping back into Martin's bed. After a moment's hesitation, Martin cracked out two more of the pills and downed them himself, the ache at the back of his mind remaining from his discussion with the Beholding.  
  
He decided he might as well take off Jon's shoes, before tucking him in and grabbing a pillow and blanket for the couch.  
  
At least it was a comfortable couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eldritch horror words as follows:  
> Jon is not here right now, Martin Blackwood.   
> I am the one that watches. The one that Sees and Consumes and Records. The one that Beholds.  
> He seeks to Know as I do. We work together so we can Know All.  
> You care about him very much. I feed off the fear the mortals have for me, but I will admit, I am curious about the feelings you have for my Archive, Martin Blackwood. I seek to Know them.  
> We will speak again, Martin Blackwood
> 
> -
> 
> Statement of Hawke regarding medical professionals. Statement taken direct from subject on the 30th of May, 2020.  
> Statement begins:
> 
> Okay so: a few things here. 
> 
> Firstly, I spend a lot of my time in the ER due to chronic health conditions (heart and lungs, boo-yah) so I see and overhear a lot of shit. I have seen a lot of low-key medical racism (and like, also just general racism), but the one that sticks out is when i got to watch as the same nurse asked two people - a white woman and a black teen - if theyd been taking drugs. If nothing else, the tone was just so wildly different. Accusatory versus routine. ANYWAY. 
> 
> Secondly, access to pain medication. thats the end of my sentence. (There is good reasons that doctors are hesistant to give out heavy painkillers, and thats fair, but its still not good)
> 
> Thirdly, I do actually like and respect medical professionals. My cousin is a neonatal nurse and he is the best nurse ever (Thats not just me, he has a national award). But also, there are plenty of studies that show non-whites and non-cisgender males have a harder time in the medical system. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I'll get off my soapbox now. Sorry to put Real World into my terrible fic about ... um... weird eye things...  
> (statement ends)

**Author's Note:**

> Look, i really like the #aethetic of Eldrich Horrors being really weird when seeing the world and reporting on it. I especially like the boyfriend of said Eldirch Horror seeing the weirdness and whispering 'what the fuck' quietly. 
> 
> I liked it in WTNV, i like it in TMA. 
> 
> Reflecting on this, I'm not a _normal_ person, but who on this Earth is?


End file.
